


Echoed Laughter

by Pam_beasley



Category: Coraline (2009)
Genre: Contains character injuries, Contains horror elements, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:42:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26178184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pam_beasley/pseuds/Pam_beasley
Summary: After breaking her arm, Coraline is hounded by nightmares of the Beldam. Together, she and Wybie search for a way to end the nightmares and any other lurking threat.—Originally written for the Ethereal zine which, unfortunately, had to be canceled.
Kudos: 25





	Echoed Laughter

Coraline didn’t hear her own screaming as she fell through the air. Laughter drowned out all other noises. The laughter didn’t belong to Wybie, who was watching her with a camcorder and a horrified expression. It definitely wasn’t hers. It didn’t belong to any living person or earthly thing who would cause sound waves to travel through the air.

This laughter, unlike the sounds of the world, existed inside of Coraline, working its way through her body and reverberating through her ears, pounding on her skull, and racing through her veins. The beldam, Coraline’s Other Mother, laughed and laughed and laughed as Coraline rushed to the ground with flailing limbs and branches whipping at her face.

“Stop scratching at your cast,” Coraline’s mother, her _real_ mother with her tired eyes and her hands which were always a bit cold and with her hair that was littered with grey streaks that could only be seen in the sunlight, this _true_ mother, instructed at the breakfast table.

Coraline, who was using the handle of her fork to reach inside her cast so she could scratch the sweaty skin of her forearm, barely paused before continuing again. “When do I get this stupid thing off?”

“You have an appointment with the doctor on Tuesday. Stop scratching!” Her mother gave her a tired, pointed look. “This could have been avoided--”

“--if I was more careful.” Coraline sighed and took her fork out to stab at her eggs. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” Under her breath, she muttered, “Next time, I’ll make Wybie climb the tree.” 

A wide yawn escaped Coraline’s lips, and her mother glanced at her with an emotion resembling concern creeping upon her face. “Another nightmare?”

Coraline shrugged.

Her mother clicked her tongue. “You’ve had nightmares every night since it started raining.” 

Coraline stabbed her eggs. If she was being honest, she’d tell her mother that the nightmares had started when she broke her arm nearly five weeks ago and the rain, which had started only four days prior, had only caused her mother to notice the nightmares when she came to check the roof in Coraline’s room for leaks each night. 

As innocent as the task that lead to breaking her arm was--climbing a tree to see if she could find robin eggshells--when the lightweight branch broke under her weight and she fell to the ground, she was plagued by the Other Mother’s laughter, deranged and melodic. Somehow, the fear of the fall and the subsequent pain had triggered a series of nightmares that seemed never ending.

“Want to come to town with us?” Coraline’s mother asked with an expression that said it wasn’t her ideal option but she was willing if needed. 

Coraline scrunched her nose as her mom took the dishes to the sink. “And have me go on gross grown up business? No, thank you. Wybie and I have plans. _Big_ plans.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Nothing messy?”

Coraline crossed her heart with her finger. “All messes will be strictly kept outside.”

“And out of the garden?”

“Scout’s honor.”

With a final warning--“Don’t cause anyone trouble”--her mother and her father were on their way, and Coraline was left alone in the house. She shivered at the sheer emptiness of it. 

She hadn’t told Wybie of these big plans. In fact, none existed. She knew, however, that they were both lacking in the friends department. Beside, because he was partially responsible for her broken arm (filming her instead of stopping her when she had first suggested the idea of climbing the tree was responsibility enough, she believed) it was his civic duty to keep her entertained.

Rushing out the door, Coraline didn’t have to wait long before she heard the roar of Wybie’s bike. He circled her, and the faux engine noise seemed to get louder.

“You stop that right now. You look ridiculous.”

“I like to think I look cool,” Wybie said, but he stopped anyway. “So, your folks are letting you out of the house now?”

Coraline scrunched her nose. It had been raining for several days, and, at the risk of getting her cast wet, she had been placed under house arrest. Wybie had been hesitant to visit her (years of being ordered to keep away from a house and then suddenly being allowed in it was a difficult instinct to overcome), so she had been left terribly bored.

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” he asked as he followed on his bike. 

Coraline walked briskly, she had places to be even if she didn’t quite know where those places were, but Wybie was quicker and he drove circles around her as she moved.

“Will you _stop_ that?” she snapped as he nearly tripped her.

“Aw, come on, Coraline. Admit I look cool.”

Looking at him pointedly, she said, “You are arguably the least cool boy I have ever seen, Wyborn.”

As they continued on, Wybie tried again and again to convince Coraline to let him give her a ride on his bike so she could see once and for all how cool it actually was. For the sake of her safety, however, she remained adamant in her refusal. She wasn’t ready for another broken arm.

Wybie sighed after his fifth try asking. “You’re such a spoilsport.”

“I am not a spoilsport.” Coraline jammed her hands into her jacket pocket. “You’re the one who can’t admit there are more fun things than riding around on a bike all day.”

He opened his mouth to make a retort but stopped short. His bike stopped as well, right in front of Coraline who nearly tumbled over it.

Pain flared through her broken arm, and mud stained her jeans.

“Are you mad at me, Cora?”

“That is not my name.”

“Well, are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Absolutely furious.”

Although her tone was that of mock irritation, Wybie took the defensive. “Why?”

“You broke my arm!”

“I was a bystander!” he argued. “An innocent who was documenting the occasion. It’s not everyday someone breaks their arm.”

She skirted past his bike. “What. Ever.”

He chased after her until she came to a stop at the top of the hill where they had first met.

Coraline stared at the clearing and the old well which sat in the center. Wybie fell silent, which was uncharacteristic for him. The air seemed to whisper something to them.

“I need to open it,” Coraline said to herself.

Wybie’s eyes widened. “WHAT?” He hadn’t met the Other Mother but between what Coraline had told him, the actions of his grandmother, and what he had seen of the beldam’s _hand_ , he knew that opening the well where they had trapped a part of the Other Mother with the key that would give her full access to their world was, without a doubt, a _horrible_ idea. He would not stand by filming _that_. 

He grabbed onto Coraline’s good arm. “We are not opening it.”

She shook him away. “You can leave.”

“And let you die!”

She scoffed. “I won’t _die_.”

“Then why open it?”

“Because.” Coraline paused. Was she being absurd? Was she about to make a huge mistake? Taking a breath, she said, “Because, I’ve been having nightmares, so I need to see.”

Wybie rubbed the back of his hand. His grandmother often had nightmares, so he knew how powerful they could be. There was no convincing Coraline out of this. And, if the nightmares actually meant something, if they were a premonition of sorts, they’d be in danger if they didn’t check on the hand.

“Okay,” he said at last. “I have rope at home. Don’t…” He looked at Coraline, then he looked at the ground, found a hefty rock, and handed it to her. “Don’t do anything until I get back.”

She stuck out her tongue. “I don’t need your help.”

“You’re...you’re my friend, Jonesy.” 

Coraline rolled her eyes and offered him a soft smile. She nodded slightly, and, giving a quick glance to make sure she was still holding the rock, Wybie rushed off. 

Coraline weighed the rock in her hand. She was upset that she had broken her dominant hand, but she reckoned she could throw the rock hard enough to do some serious damage despite her injury. 

She knelt next to the cover of the well and pressed her ear to the rotting wood. Silence. She tapped on the wood, testing its sturdiness, and it held up. 

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe the nightmares were nothing more than nightmares. Maybe the laughter she had heard had been nothing more than adrenaline running through her body as she fell. 

She half-considered changing her mind and forgetting she had ever suggested going to the well, but Wybie came back before she could come to a final decision.

“I’ve got everything we need!” His bike skidded to a stop.

“Bring your camcorder?” she asked, teasingly. 

“You know I’m sorry.”

She looked into his eyes and, even with his fidgeting, she could tell he meant it. He was determined to do this with her. 

“I’ll go first.” She took the rope from him and tied it around the closest tree. Wybie handed her a heavy pot, and she dutifully put it over her head as a makeshift helmet. Then, he handed her a small flashlight which she stuck between her teeth. 

The descent was terrifying. Darkness welcomed her and threatened to engulf the soft light of the flashlight. The stones were slippery, and she nearly fell a few times, but she managed to maintain a tight grip on the rope. Her heart pounded.

“Are you dead, yet?” Wybie called down as she reached the bottom of the well.

“Come find out!” she called back, the flashlight muffling her words.

Darkness blotted the opening of the well as Wybie made his descent.

“Careful!” Coraline yelled as he nearly fell on her. When they found their footing, Coraline jabbed the flashlight into the dirt wall, letting light flood over the cramped space. They stared at the package that contained the other mother’s hand. Water crawled up their calves, submerging the package in part.

Coraline tapped the rock with her foot and Wybie hit it with a pair of tongs. They paused, listening for a response. Outside, a bird called out. A rush of wind blew through the trees. The rock and the hand that was crushed under it remained silent. 

Deep in her gut, Coraline could feel a stirring, either the laughter of the Other Mother or her body already ready for more food. 

“I think she wants us to open it.”

Wybie’s head turned, and he furiously scratched his neck. “We won’t, right? It’s stupid to do what she _wants._ ”

Coraline stared at the soaked blanket which had a mixture of moss and mold growing on the fabric. The beginnings of rips ran along the side, as if something had tried to get out. She held out her hand, and Wybie dutifully gave her his tongs.

She hit the blanket covered rock, hard. 

She hit it again. 

And again.

Then she was crying. Large, salty tears tracking a path down her cheeks. She scrunched her nose, bit her lip, and hit with as much force as she could muster. 

Wybie watched her for nearly a minute. When Coraline slowed due to her own exhaustion, he picked up the task and attacked the rock with fury. Once or twice, he yelped timidly when he thought something in the blanket was trying to fight back, but he never stopped hitting with as much strength as he possessed while Coraline cried. 

Coraline yelled, loudly, “I hate you!” Her words reverberated off the mossy stones, escaping through the entrance miles away.

Wybie yelled, too. Calling vengeance for his grandmother, wrath for Coraline, rage that he had never felt before.

They yelled and hit and cried and yelled some more.

Then, they fell to their knees, Coraline leaning against the rock, Wybie sitting protectively beside her. He drummed his fingers against his leg, his pants now thoroughly soaked through. She wiped her tears. Her parents would be upset to see her sopping cast. She didn’t know how she’d explain it to them.

Standing with determination, she picked up the rock Wybie had initially given her. She handed the tongs back to him and gestured at the button-black key, now rusted over. “Hold it steady.”

He did as instructed with the tongs and covered his face with his free hand.

In one large, decisive blow, she cut all ties she possessed to the Other Mother, splitting the key into unusable pieces and freeing herself from that disgusting, controlling laugh. 


End file.
